The Saint Who Stole My Heart: A Regency Rogues Novel by Stefanie Sloane Page B

hand on the carved brass doorknob. Turning it noiselessly, he gently pushed and the paneled door opened, revealing very little in the darkened boudoir.
    Dash slipped silently inside and eased the door closed behind him, taking a moment to get his bearings. It had been some time since he’d been in this particular room, but the faint light from the fireplace embers lit the shadowed space. The wall directly across from him bore a row of high mullioned windows that were heavily draped. A pair of chairs sat near the fireplace, separatedby a low table. And to his left was a canopied four-posted bed, where Miss Barnes slept.
    The bed curtains were only partially closed. He moved stealthily to the edge of the bed and gently tugged the fringed curtain.
    Something swung toward him just to his left and Dash ducked, reaching out and capturing the small fist that had nearly connected with his face.
    A shrill scream, followed by an “Ow,” sounded in the dark.
    Miss Barnes tumbled from the bed, landing in a tangle of nightgown and coverlet at his feet.
    “Ow!”
    “You repeat yourself, Miss Barnes,” Dash commented, pulling her to stand.
    She yanked her hand from his as if she’d been burned. “I’m afraid eloquence escapes me at the moment. It often does when I’m set upon in my bed.”
    Dash didn’t respond. He could only stare. Her chin was lifted haughtily, her full, soft lips trembling slightly. Her labored breathing forced her chest to rise and fall unnaturally fast.
    “Well, my lord. I assume there’s a rational reason for your presence,” she ground out, turning away. A moment later, the sudden dim glow of a lone candle illuminated her and little else. A plain white night rail clung to her body, accentuating her lush curves. Dash knew he should look away, but he found it impossible to resist the breathtaking view.
    “Oh!” she squeaked, looking down at her night rail and crossing her arms over her breasts. “Turn around!” she commanded, then added “and please, fetch me my wrapper.”
    Dash did as she asked, crossing the room to where a soft linen wrapper lay folded neatly on the edge of oneof the chairs. He picked it up and turned back to Miss Barnes.
    “No,” she urged, gesturing for him to turn around. “Your presence in my room is highly inappropriate. Do not make the situation any worse than it already is.”
    “Of course,” Dash agreed, immediately turning around and walking backward until he felt her palm flatten between his shoulder blades. He laid the wrapper over his shoulder and waited.
    She whisked the garment away and a moment later, tapped efficiently on his arm. “You may turn around, my lord.”
    Dash slowly shifted to face her. “There is a rational reason.”
    “I’m sorry?” she questioned, folding her arms tightly across her chest.
    He adopted what he hoped was a look of confusion. “For what, Miss Barnes?”
    She looked down and fiddled with the tassel at the end of her wrapper’s sash, blowing out a frustrated breath as she did so. “Shall we start again, my lord? Why, exactly, are you here?”
    “Oh, yes, of course,” Dash replied obtusely. “For the puzzle.”
    “The puzzle?” Miss Barnes parroted, squeezing her upper arms as if for support, then unfolding them and gesturing toward the two chairs. “Now,” she began again, walking across the room and sitting down. “You needed the puzzle now?”
    “No, I wanted the box earlier,” Dash replied, following her and taking the chair opposite. “But you failed to appear for dinner.”
    “I see,” she replied hesitantly, nodding her head at the simple logic. “Well, then. You shall have your puzzle.”
    Dash sat on the edge of his seat, like the simpleton Miss Barnes believed him to be, and began. “I’m verycurious about the box. Can’t imagine what my father would have kept inside of it.”
    “Well, you won’t have to wait long, my lord. I’ve nearly figured it out.”
    “That’s impossible,” Dash growled,